Look, constable, what I don't understand is, surely hewouldn't be into blues? Because that was Wayne's life foryou. A blues single. I mean, if people were music, Waynewould be like one of those scratchy old numbers, youknow, re-recorded about a hundred times from theoriginal phonograph cylinder or whatever, with someold guy with a name like Deaf Orange Robinson standingknee-deep in the Mississippi and moaning through hisnose.

You'd think he'd be more into Heavy Metal or Meatloafor someone. But I suppose he's into everyone. Eventually.

What? Yeah. That's my van, with Hellfire Discopainted on it. Wayne can't drive, you see. He's justnot interested in anything like that. I remember whenI got my first car and we went on holiday, and I did thedriving and, okay, also the repairing, and Wayne workedthe radio trying to keep the pirate stations tuned in. Hedidn't really care where we went as long as it was on highground and he could get Caroline or London or whatever,I didn't care where we went so long as we went.

I was always more into cars than music. Until now, Ithink. I don't think I want to drive a car again. I'd keepwondering who'd suddenly turn up in the passengerseat . .

Sorry. So. Yeah. The disco. Well, the deal was that Isupplied the van, we split the cost of the gear, and Waynesupplied the records. It was really my idea. I mean, itseemed a pretty good bet. Wayne lives with his mum butthey're down to two rooms now because of his recordcollection. Lots of people collect records, but I reckonWayne really wants - wanted - to own every one that wasever made. His idea of a fun outing was going to some oldstore in some old town and rummaging through thestock and coming out with something by someone witha name like Sid Sputnik and the Spacemen, but the thingwas, the funny thing was, you'd get back to his room and